


Redemption Song

by writerdragonfly



Series: Bright Skies of Mourning [1]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 08:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18257315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/pseuds/writerdragonfly
Summary: Her rate of survival with wounds like these isn't very high, no matter how much she wants them to be.But... but, this is all her fault anyway, isn't it?Maybe she can make her death mean something. It's not like her life was worth much in the end.





	Redemption Song

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying an experiment where I stop overthinking every word I write and just post as soon as I get a feel for a good stopping point. I have been so stressed out about my writing lately that I haven't posted anything in some time before Monday. That being said, this ficlet has actually been written for some time. It was originally a short prologue to a larger Until Dawn fic (which is still in progress!) but I feel it stands well on its own. 
> 
> I'm trying to post a chapter of something per day, but I'm not counting this one as today's. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

6:57 AM

February 5th, 2015

Washington Lodge, Blackwood Mountain

 

It is dark and cold and terrifying. The lodge itself isn’t much warmer than the freezing cold outside, but somehow she feels even colder. It isn’t actually all that surprising, knowing what she knows. It isn’t surprising, but it  _ is  _ painful to realize.

 

She isn’t going to make it out of here alive. She knows it before she even sees the reckless, last-minute plan that Mike and Sam cook up with nothing more than a glance.  _ (And when had that happened? When did they have the ability to understand each other so well without words?) _

 

There’s too much blood spilling out between her fingers, thick and viscous and clotted, for her to make it.

 

She never thought of herself as a brave person, someone who was selfless, but everything about the night has been a lesson, a catalyst to be the kind of person she always could have been.

 

She just won’t have the chance to put that to use. She won’t have the chance to really be the kind of person she knows she would have been, or tried to be, after this.

 

Her lipstick is smeared, her hands are sticky with soot and grit and blood. Her chest burns, dust and dirt and ash clogging her respiration with every breath. Mascara clings to the skin on her face, and she is so... tired.

 

Moving has somehow turned into a sluggish action in the last handful of minutes, and looking down she can see the faintest discolouration peeking through her once favorite top--her intestines, she thinks.

 

“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” she says as she looks back up, spitting blood on her lips. She meets Sam’s eyes, wide and terrified, just before the thing-- _ the wendigo _ \--wearing black ink in the shape of a butterfly turns to face her instead.

 

“Run,” Emily Davis screams, choking as the wendigo strikes, sharp claws piercing her already raw and shredded abdomen. The nearly empty lighter in her fingers, fumbled from an empty pack of cigarettes, finally strikes as she breathes her last, final breath and the lodge explodes.

 


End file.
